


The True Ultimate Weapon

by Coffin Liqueur (HP_Lovecats)



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Puns, Game: Resident Evil 7, Gen, Short One Shot, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21906721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HP_Lovecats/pseuds/Coffin%20Liqueur
Summary: Even when it's harmless, Lucas is the worst kind of prankster.
Relationships: Lucas Baker & Zoe Baker
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10
Collections: The Baker Family Photo Album





	The True Ultimate Weapon

_“Psssssst._

_“Pssssst -- Zoe...!”_

Lucas’s whisper was coarse - swollen yet thin like the skin of a balloon.

Appropriately, it got the hair on the back of Zoe’s neck standing up as if by static cling.

_“Hey, hey…!”_

She hesitated to look.

The trailer window rattled. He was knocking. Her eyelids dropped just a bit heavier and she shifted in her seat, lowered further over her latest batch of treasure photos. Fanned them perhaps a bit too purposefully, too slowly, with the tips of her fingers, stiff as spiders’ legs.

Eyes turned just a bit too far upwards.

_I’m busy._

_Goddammit._

Not another word as his knocking went and rattled like the wind. She flinched in on herself - everything tensing down in an unverbalized curse - as it wouldn’t have been below him to break a goddamn window because he was being ignored, play it off as a _tee-hee-oops_ accident. ‘Specially not now.

She sighed through her teeth, head heavy. Stood. Paced to the bedside window, drew the curtain open, half lever-movement and half a fling.

There he goddamn was.

Just about the way she expected.

Face practically pressed against the glass with his big ol’ goggly-eyed smile, pale against the murk.

It fuckin’ chilled her - she flick-rolled her eyes into their corners.

“Whaddya need.”

Syllables dryly tumbling out like a noncommittal toss a’ pebbles down onto felt.

In her mind’s eye she saw ‘im mouth the beginning of a stammer. Shape it into words as he pattered out that “I think I just made somethin’ _one-of-a-_ **_kind_** _!_ ”

By the time her eyes had snapped onto him, his grin was re-fixed. Just a wee bit bigger, a little tilt to his head, brow lifted - minute, stuck-to-the-ground “hops” side-to-side between his shoes.

_Eh? Eh?!_

A tiny toss-up of his chin. “‘N I want your _opinion!_ ”

Her brow weighted. Furrowed. He twisted - lips did, too, twisted in some nonexistent damn effort - and he singsonged unsmilingly, as he reached into his pocket, “Auuuuuuh, IIIIII want you to tell me what this _looks_ like…!”

She felt another bit of extra tensing in her next heartbeat - a little yank at her nerves that pulled her half a step back, reflexively.

“You know what _this_ is…?” he said. Voice slickin’ over with a cheeky, unctuous little layer of tartness and grease. The thing in his pocket clicked as he drew it out. Held it out.

Zoe’s brow knit further in a tick. She looked down.

Her eyes crossed on a --

...All the blood and warmth pooled fast out from just under her skin, and sank, sank, sank, _“Don’t you pull a_ **_gun on me -- !!_** "

_**POP -- …!** _

...Her body seized and jumped into a big bright gray flash.

It died.

It cleared.

When she reopened her eyes from another tight flinch, she focused on the gun again.

Protruding from the barrel on a retractable lattice bobbed…

...a plastic canary.

Protruding from the bird’s open, faded beak was --

...a goddamn “BANG!” flag.

“ _Gun?_ ” Lucas half-hiccuped. Stupid, stupid mock-incredulity. She snapped her eyes right back onto his face. He was practically trembling with giggles. They curdled his voice. “ _Noooooooo…_ ”

He sprung upright - Zoe jumped, in spite of herself; the bird flopped about on its arm flimsily at the gun’s end as he held the barrel upright. Gestured at the contraption aggressively with his free fuckin’ hand, palm up.

There was hell of a lot of too much white in his eyes.

 _“It’s a_ **_Cuckoo Glock_** _!”_ he said.

Last syllable sticky. And, as his nose buckled, half snorted and honked with laughter.

All while, runnin’ on that drained blood having been replaced by something very, very hot and flushing and rushing, Zoe paced in a dizzy-fury circle. Flung herself down onto the bed, gathered the pillow up tight into her face to catch it when she gave in to the instinct to yell _“MAMAAAAAAAAAA?!”_

God was dead.


End file.
